Two Minutes
by Kataoi
Summary: She said she's always known, and while it's rather frustrating, it does make the transition easier. Now it's a matter of not screwing up the one thing he knows he has to do.


A/N: Although this can be seen as stand-alone, it requires a bit of a set up in order to fully understand, which I know is a bit unfair for a story. This is an insert for a chapter in one of my previous fics, "Quality Time", but it wouldn't quite work to simply tack a new chapter on to that so I instead offer it here.

* * *

There's two minutes left.

That's the calculation. It takes sixteen seconds to get from their table to the cash register, and with the hostess having nothing else to do on a Thursday night, she is able to process their check right away.

Ten percent off. Sasha stares at the few dollars it discounts, swallowing hard. His stomach is ready to fly off, his fingers trembling while hastily signing his rather crisp signature for the check. The hostess hands his credit card back to him with a familiar smile and bids them farewell until next week.

There's one minute and eight seconds left.

Milla is no different. Her eyes are half-open, fully content with the meal the two have just eaten, her left hand clutching the plastic bag holding cartons of leftovers. She props open the first set of doors with her foot while proceeding through, Sasha holding the door open for himself as he follows.

She stops on the sidewalk outside, her right hand hesitating. He does what he always does upon reaching her side, and offers his arm to her.

There's 51 seconds left.

They stroll down the sidewalk and towards the intersection, the solid orange pedestrian warning them not to cross. Though there's not really any traffic and j-walking would be permissible, the two patiently wait. Milla hugs his arm with hers, gently resting her head against his sleeve. He flinches as goosebumps radiate from the spot, his throat tightening.

There's 34 seconds left.

The orange man turns white and they are able to legally cross, pitching right at the corner and heading down the side street. Two cars are parallel parked, one in front of the other, and it is here that they are due to depart.

There's 21 seconds left.

Sasha unhooks his arm and Milla unravels herself. He feels just that much more hollow when her warmth leaves him, but he has to reassure himself:

_She agreed_.

At the same time, it does nothing to calm his nerves. He knows what he has to do in order to not make this evening fall on its face.

There's 13 seconds left.

"Milla," he says to her back. Her head perks up before she turns her neck, her body following in a fluid motion to face him.

"Yes?"

There's 9 seconds left.

"I..."

She takes a step towards him while his arms raise halfway, shaking. At that very moment, every thought in his mind and every fiber of his being are in conflict, engaging in a shouting match of yes and no, fighting new data over engrained muscle memory.

He can't bring himself to put his hands on her hips and it's too far to her shoulders. He instead grasps her fingers while stooping just slightly, tilting forward on his left foot and balancing on his right.

The last thing he sees is her own eyes closing, the faded pink of her eyeshadow matching the flush in her cheeks. It triggers one last thought in his mind:

_Für...mich._

There's 4 seconds left.

He misses, just slightly, hitting her top lip and having all feeling from his body drop away, frozen.

"Darling," she whispers, the tiniest of giggles escaping her, though the word is completely lost at the feeling of – the feeling of _her lips moving against his_ – but she fixes his mistake, nudging her head upwards just slightly and returning the initial gesture.

The timer has run out.

Sasha's grip tightens as the rest of his body shakes, unable to focus on any one thing and fidgeting at sensory overload. Another few seconds pass, his limbs rebelling at every turn, and he simply can't sustain it. He shifts his head to the right, his eyes still jammed shut while he attempts to think of a recovery. It's a _terrible_ first kiss, even he knows that – he, the completely ill-informed on topics such as this, his scant knowledge coming from observations he views as unsightly (which was rather hypocritical at the moment, though to be fair, there wasn't anyone around save for a few passing cars).

And he knows how this'll go. Something will be said, something to just make the situation worse. Either he'll say it, fumbling in words, or she will, a botched attempt to soothe his tensions. That's what happens, and that was fated to happen here. He doesn't have to be an expert in relations to _know_.

"Thank you," she says, her words casting warm shadows on his jaw. Everything in him stops, from his blood to his thoughts, and he hesitates before allowing his eyes to open and slowly look at her, his breaths escaping in ragged strokes.

She is smiling.

And that's it. No other words. No aspersions, no judgments, nothing. Just a smile, the most...pleasant, serene, beautiful smile he's ever seen.

_Für mich._

Milla reaches just a bit, elevating a touch on her toes, to kiss his cheek. His knees warble, wanting to collapse, but he at least keeps this part composed, transferring that energy into one single shiver that sweeps through his nerves. If she notices, she leaves it alone, and instead makes the move to hug him.

How she manages to slip out of his grasp he isn't sure, but she wraps her arms under his, looping her hands to his shoulders and resting her head next to his as he unconsciously lowers himself further. It's a tight, secure hug, and even though Milla's given him hugs before, they've never been like this.

Sasha stands there awkwardly for a second longer before an actual, rationale thought finally passes through his head. He raises his arms and just manages to get them around her waist, locking his hands to his wrists, and does his best not to tremble.

He's going to have to get used to this, right?

Milla pulls her head back, pecking his unresponsive mouth once more, before smiling warmly. "See you tomorrow, then?"

Yes. Yes, he's going to have to get used to this.

Which he could.

With time.

"Uhh – yes. Yes, see you tomorrow at the office."

The two untangle their arms and he watches her swerve around to the other side of the car, which she opens with a click from her remote. She looks back at him once more before ducking into the vehicle, her expression still pleasant while turning on the engine and rolling down the passenger's side window.

"Sasha," she calls to him. He stoops, one last time, to peer into the car, his eyebrows raised in response. She opens her mouth to say something, but can't vocalize the words, so she instead waves her fingers. "Good night, darling."

He lifts his hand up to return the gesture. "Good night -" And he doesn't know how to finish that sentence either, so he completes it with, "- Milla."

She leaves him with her smile as she pulls out from the spot and drives up the road to the intersection. He watches her taillights as they make the right turn, and once the car is gone from his sight, he releases the longest pent-up sigh he's ever had in his life.

It's been three minutes.

All gaffs aside, a pretty good three minutes.

Now it was only a matter of getting used to everything.


End file.
